Like a Log
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: No Exit missing scenes and tag: Sam's not quite himself.


_With thanks to R and Cathy _

**Like a Log**  
K Hanna Korossy

"You know," Dean paused in tapping out _Fly By Night_ on the steering wheel, "we could have stayed another day at the roadhouse."

Sam blinked slowly at the passing scenery, not bothering to turn toward his brother when he asked, "Why?"

"Oh, I dunno, make sure Jo and Ellen didn't kill each other, hang out with Dr. Badass…let you come back down to Earth."

It took a minute, but he finally frowned, looking over at Dean. "What?"

"Meds? Pharmaceutical high? C'mon, man, face it, you've been stoned ever since we got back from the hospital."

Sam's frown deepened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean grinned. "Uh-huh. So that falling asleep last night on the bar, that was just you being extra tired."

"Whatever."

"And telling me you like me better with green eyes than yellow when I put you to bed, that's…what, flirting? 'Cause then, dude, we need to talk."

Sam's jaw clenched. "Shut up."

Dean snorted but obeyed. Which was a very good thing, because Sam was way too tired for violence just then.

Okay, so smashing his cast two days before into a car window hadn't been his most inspired act. It hadn't taken long for Dean to realize something was wrong and to haul him to the nearest hospital to have his hand reset. The only good that had come of that was that Dean had finally replaced their laptop in an effort to cheer Sam up, and he was grateful for that.

Not so much, however, for Dean's insistence he do the whole pain-pill regimen the doctor had prescribed. The first dose had made him ridiculously sleepy. Ellen had offered them a bed for the night, and while Sam had insisted he was ready to hit the road, secretly he was relieved to hit a mattress instead. But impaired? From a few pain pills? He'd gotten his second wind now, and it wasn't like they'd never had to play hurt.

But, yeah, the drooling on the bar hadn't helped his case much.

Sam shrugged down into the seat and crossed his arms petulantly, giving in to little brother sulking because it was totally appropriate under these circumstances. His arm throbbed dully, his head swam, and Dean was making fun of him. Perfect.

"Hey, it's a long drive to Philly. Why don't you get some sleep?" his brother's unusually gentle voice intruded on his moping.

He would've muttered back something suitably annoyed, but his body had already started shutting down as if it had just been waiting for permission. Darn it. Sam gave up fighting the pull and curled a little more in the seat, eyes already closed, hearing Dean turn the music down.

A finger carefully wriggled under the edge his cast, testing to make sure it wasn't too tight. Dean had already tried to check several times since the day before and gotten smacked for his efforts. This time, the best Sam could manage was a slurred "Go 'way" and a jerk of his arm.

He fell asleep to the sound of Dean's amused chuckle.

00000

He woke once, to a pair of pale blue pills and a water bottle, both of which were ingested with a minimum of awareness before he drifted off again. Somewhere along the way, he'd also acquired Dean's jacket over his shoulders. All Sam registered was warmth and contentment before he slipped back into dreams. They were weird, disjointed, some kind of school party broken up by a band of wendigos. Which was just stupid, because wendigos hunted alone.

A psychologist would have had a field day with the inside of his head.

But he felt nearly human again by the time the dying of the Impala's engine woke him. Sam blinked up at his brother, then at the brick and stone building.

"This it?" he asked, yawning.

"Home, sweet home," Dean answered, then he was leaning over the seat to dig something out of their bag.

Sam looked the building over, as if the outside might give some clue about the women who'd been disappearing within, then he glanced around the car. File, file…there. He really should have read it on the way, out loud for them both to be up to speed, but so much for that plan. There certainly didn't seem to be any criticism in Dean's face when he slid back down into the driver's seat and gave Sam an assessing glance. "You back?"

Then again, Dean was the one who'd drugged him and insisted he sleep. "Unfortunately," Sam said dryly. But his hand was down to a smothered ache and his head was…okay, still kind of cottony, but clear enough to think. The clippings in the file made sense now instead of being a jumble of letters like the last time he looked. He flipped through them, noting headlines, dates, details, then nodded. "Jo did a good job with this."

"So she said." Dean was peering over the top of the file as he slid the EMF meter into his pocket. "It mention in there which apartment we're scoping out?"

"Yeah, uh…3A."

"Cool." Dean's eyes rose to his face. "You up to carrying, or should I be worried about getting shot someplace unpleasant?"

Sam made a face and grabbed the gun. "What kind of rounds?"

"Regular. I've got silver and some salt, just in case."

He nodded. "You ready?"

Dean's face broke into a way-too-happy smile. "Dude, I'm not the one who asked Ellen to marry me last night."

Sam glowered at him before yanking the car door open. Oh, yeah, it was going to be a long hunt.

00000

Jo's voice had a peculiar quality Sam had never noticed before. It tended to run together into this high-pitched whine that didn't make sense unless he really paid attention. And, admittedly, he wasn't paying much attention.

Dean was arguing with her, which was just fine with Sam. Twenty years he'd been handling guns, but the shotgun he was cleaning was being particularly stubborn, not breaking or closing like it should. The metal slipped against the edge of his cast, making him wince, then slid through his good hand. With an impatient huff, Sam tried again.

Dean's phone rang. Ellen. Sam listened with half an ear, enough to know Dean was covering for Jo, but then he stopped paying attention again. Okay, clean the bore…then what? It should have been second nature, but he was too distracted. No, tired. He was just tired. Tired and…

"Sam?"

He blinked up at Dean, surprised to see his brother not only off the phone but leaning over him.

"I'm thinking it's time for you to turn in, bro."

He processed that, and it took way too much effort. "I'm okay. Gotta…clean the guns."

"Yeah, which might even be a good idea if you hadn't practically worn the barrel smooth on this one already. You've been working on it for the last hour, Sam—I think it's as clean as it's gonna get."

An hour? Really? Dean could be messing with him. Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother, trying to make sense of the glint in the hazel eyes. "Dean—"

Dean waited patiently. Dean never waited patiently unless Sam was really screwed up, which was an argument right there he couldn't refute.

Sam sighed and released the shotgun into Dean's grip. "Fine."

A hand clasped his shoulder. "Go get some sleep, Sammy."

He stood, riding out a wave of dizziness with Dean's hand slipping down to his elbow for support, then stumbled to the bathroom. A very tired, hazy-eyed figure stared back at him from the mirror. Sam grimaced at it, then bent down to splash some water onto his face and brush his teeth. It took a lot of energy just being careful not to get his cast wet. Or, uh, fall over.

When he stumbled back out, Dean had settled into the easy chair, flipping through channels on the TV, and Jo was bent over their research material. Neither looked like they were going to bed any time soon. Sam's head swiveled wearily toward the open bedroom door. A comfortable-looking queen-size bed sat in the center of the room, made up with a sheet and blanket from the car. It looked about as close to heaven as they got. And no one was using it, right?

What the heck. Sam shuffled over to it and sort of collapsed more than crawled onto the mattress, one hand reaching clumsily back to cover himself with the blanket. The bedding smelled like the Impala, which was comforting in a weird way, and the mattress gave just enough to cradle his casted hand as he drew it up against his chest. Really comfortable. Shame to waste it. Jo could kick him out when she got tired, and Dean wouldn't want it while he was standing watch. Not like Sam couldn't share if Dean wanted to. They often did growing up. Jo could, too—Sam wasn't about to take advantage. That was Dean's territory. Not like he would with Jo. Maybe. That was kinda confusing. And, God, this bed was soft. What was in those pills Dean kept slipping him, anyway? Sam would share; he was good at sharing. Not like Dean, who tended to either keep or give away completely. But sharing was good… And…he was…

00000

"You should've woken me up," he complained softly to Jo.

The girl shrugged, her smile wan in the early morning light. "I wasn't tired. Besides, I don't think Dean would have agreed."

He followed her gaze to his brother's form, twisted into a classic Marty McFly pose in the easy chair. Sam grinned at the sight. Dean was dead to the world, and Sam fought hard against the temptation to go find his cellphone. But Dean had let him sleep and, yeah, would have probably even fought Jo to do the same, and that earned him some brotherly leeway. As did the pills, water, and pair of granola bars that had been waiting on the nightstand when Sam woke up.

Sam shook his head in utter, sappy fondness, and turned back to Jo. "I'm, uh, gonna go pick up some coffee. He's kind of a zombie without it. You want anything?"

"Coffee sounds good. Half-caf latte?"

He grimaced. Maybe Dean was right about that being a girl drink. "Sure," was all he said, then gave Dean one more glance. "I'll be back in a few, all right?"

She nodded absently, already back to her research.

Sam echoed her nod and detoured to his bag to get his cell and take a picture of Dean—okay, so he was a little brother, not a saint—before he slipped out the door. Or at least tried to. The chain caught on his jacket, and Sam had to sheepishly untangle himself, careful not to look and see if Jo had noticed. He hurried downstairs.

The cops were waiting outside the building, anxious to talk to anyone coming out.

He never did get Dean that coffee.

00000

Okay, so another girl was missing and they had a deadline now. Sam wondered briefly why Holmes would have gone after two women so close together when his pattern until then had been decades apart, but gave it up when the train of thought became too much effort. He had to pay attention and find the girl before she died, too.

They'd decided to split up for speed, and Dean had taken Jo with him because an amateur's presence on the hunt made the elder Winchester nervous. Sam knew that and agreed she needed looking after, but he wasn't crazy about this whole splitting-up business. And not just because bad things usually happened when they parted ways.

He was, uh, sort of lost.

Sam stared at the blueprint of the building, then turned it ninety degrees. It had made sense before…mostly…and he'd covered the first floor without much problem. But the building was old, its hallways a maze of twists and turns, and somewhere along the way the white lines had blurred and gotten confusing. He was pretty sure he was…here. He just had no idea where that was.

Sam groaned, leaning his forehead against the nearest wall. Dean would never let him live this down.

It was his brother's fault, really, for making him take those stupid pills while his hand settled down. Dean, who looked at Aspirin with suspicion. He was the one who kept force-feeding the little blue brain-scramblers. The pain was mostly gone, but so was coherent thought or going for more than five minutes without yawning. They were on a hunt, for God's sake, and Sam could barely keep his eyes open.

He was so palming the next set of meds.

Jo called in another location and direction. Sam answered intelligently and without a clue what he was talking about. He turned the next corner with new drive, though. Maybe he had no idea what he was doing, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try. One of these hallways had to lead back to the stairs.

Right?

And, no, he was absolutely not talking to himself.

00000

Jo was gone, taken by Holmes. And Dean was very loudly and controlledly panicking.

Had his head been clearer, Sam might have tried to figure out which exactly of his brother's buttons the whole situation was pushing: losing someone else from his small circle, breaking his ill-conceived promise to Ellen that Jo would be all right, not saving innocents, or maybe just his natural protectiveness of all persons of the female persuasion. As it was, though, Sam just knew Dean was ready to blow, and that was enough.

"Sam, you need to sit this one out?"

The question wasn't as sharp as it sounded. Dean was asking if he was up for this, and Sam was sure his brother wouldn't have held it against him if he wasn't. But he was pretty sure he could help, despite the one arm and a head full of cotton candy. Even if he couldn't, though, sticking close to Dean would give his brother one less thing to worry about, the one thing he would have worried about more right now than a missing Jo. If Sam could at least do that much for him, he would.

Dean was almost vibrating with energy, but he'd stopped for Sam's answer. Sam shook his head.

His brother stared hard into his eyes for a second, then nodded. "All right. Let's get back to the room and figure this out."

And Sam did. Finally being able to sit down a minute, together with Dean's silent desperation and his own concern, seemed to focus Sam's thoughts. When he unrolled the blueprints, the lines and spaces suddenly came together, making sense again. Sam's eyes roamed the page, and he saw it

"Looks like part of an old sewer system."

Then he was following Dean and he forgot all about his hand and the pills.

Which was a really good thing considering they were soon crawling through those sewers.

00000

They sat for a minute in the grass outside the sewer entrance, just catching their breath and randomly breaking out into laughter as adrenalin crested and fell and they were all still _alive_.

Dean finally stood, brushing uselessly at his dirty clothes, and gave Sam a lopsided smile. "Not bad, Cheech."

He grinned back, not even bothering to get annoyed. "Yeah, thanks."

"You okay?" That was directed at Jo.

Who was finally no longer verging on hyperventilation. "Yeah." She nodded slowly. "I think I'm good."

"Good. I've got an idea." Dean got to his feet and pointed at Sam. "Keep an eye on her," he ordered.

Sam's mouth twitched, and he nodded.

Dean's finger swung over to Jo. "And you, watch him. Make sure he doesn't keel over or anything."

Sam tried to roll his eyes and succeeded only in making the scenery around him spin. He wobbled briefly, catching himself before either Jo or Dean could.

And groaned when Dean stepped in front of him and crouched down. "I'm fine, man, just go." He waved his brother off.

"That would be a whole lot more convincing if you weren't looking a little green there, Sammy."

Sam glared at him. "We just crawled through a sewer to find a decomposing body and stop a dead serial killer. I'm sorry if I'm not exactly feeling daisy-fresh."

His brother fished for something in his pocket, and Sam grimaced when he saw the prescription bottle.

"Dean, enough with the meds already."

Dean glanced up at him then, without warning, reached over and pressed his thumb lightly into the center of Sam's palm.

Sam bit out a curse, yanking his injured hand protectively to his chest.

His brother threw him an earnestly apologetic look, but it didn't stop his smirk. "Take the pills, Sam." He held out his hand.

Sam looked at him darkly but took the pale blue ovals and threw them in his mouth.

The elder Winchester produced a water bottle from somewhere and handed it over, watching as Sam took a mouthful. "Now swallow," he prompted with a knowing grin.

Murderously, Sam obeyed.

Dean pushed himself back to his feet and held out a hand. Sam sullenly counted off a few beats before reaching for it and letting his brother pull him to his feet. Dean leaned closer, his voice just grazing Sam's ear this time. "Keep an eye on her," he repeated.

Sam nodded, also sobering. A glance at Jo over Dean's shoulder revealed her amusement at guessing what Dean was saying, but she didn't argue, just smiled at Dean as he stepped back and walked past her. Sam shook his head as he watched him leave.

Jo turned back to him. "So, do you know what he's thinkin'?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah, I think I do."

How scary was that?

00000

The familiar sway and rumble of the Impala penetrated his sleep and assured him even before he fully woke that he was safe, Dean was there, and everything was okay.

Still, it wasn't often he found himself horizontal upon rousing, his cheek pressed into one of Dean's folded shirts and his body into vibrating vinyl. Or that three heads were lined up above the top of the seat in front of him instead of the usual one. Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes with one hand, making sure it wasn't his vision playing tricks on him, but, no, still three heads. Two with long hair.

There was a weighty silence in the car, and as Sam gingerly stretched his body in the small space and took stock, he tried to remember what had happened. They'd filled the sewer with cement…then Dean had gone to take the mixer back…and things got a little hazy after that. Sam seemed to remember giving an impassioned lecture about…pretzels? Either pretzels or cheesesteaks. Or maybe Tastykakes. Something that seemed very important at the time and was…really embarrassing now. Then Dean was hustling him to the car, and then nothing.

No, wait. A stop at the airport, and drowsily asking if they were there yet. Dean's hushing, Ellen's angry voice…

Oh. Ellen and Jo. Sitting up front with Dean. In total silence.

Maybe it wasn't too late to pretend he was still asleep.

But his brother's head was cocked, like he was listening for something, and Sam knew he knew. Hadn't called him on it yet because he was a pretty much the best brother anywhere when he was worried about Sam, and he didn't want to pull Sam into this if he wasn't up for it. But Dean knew.

And Sam didn't have the heart to abandon him to this oh-so-pleasant situation.

He yawned loudly and jaw-crackingly, returning Jo's grin when she looked over her shoulder at him. Ellen didn't move, and Sam met his brother's eyes in the mirror, offering a sympathetic grimace to Dean's roll of the eyes.

"Where—?"

"Ohio._Long_way to go still," Dean said pointedly. And even though it was dark, Sam kinda doubted they'd be stopping for the night. Another glance in the mirror. "You doing okay, Sam?"

Even grouchy, dangerous mothers couldn't stifle Dean when he was concerned. Sam relaxed a little, rubbing his arm absently. It barely hurt now, just occasionally throbbed to remind him it was there. "Yeah. I'm good. Think I'm done sleeping for a while."

"Oh, look, a gas station!" Dean's way-too-cheerful voice had Sam grinning at the window as he sat up all the way and settled against the right door. Sure enough, as soon as the Impala stopped, Jo was sliding out and getting into the back to join him. Dean gave them a longing glance before going to fill up the car. Sam and Jo looked at each other and stifled a laugh.

Ellen could have been carved from stone.

And, yeah, it was a long trip, but Sam didn't mind it half as much as his brother.

00000

It was day, just the two of them now, and still the car was blanketed in tense quiet.

Dean had repeated the gist of what Jo had told him about their dad, his voice flat and distant. Then he'd gotten in and started up the car, and neither of them spoke again for the next fifty miles. Sam's head hurt and his arm and body were starting to ache again, but he couldn't help picking at the revelation. Their dad had gotten Jo's dad killed? Was that even true, or just what Ellen thought? And if so…well, then what? John Winchester wasn't perfect? Like that was news for either of them?

One glance at Dean's tight face, and Sam had to concede that, yeah, maybe for one of them at least, it wasn't an easy pill to swallow.

When the silence grew too heavy, Sam hesitantly leaned forward and turned the radio on, fiddling with the knob until he found a classic rock station. He half expected Dean to reach over and turn it off just like Ellen had the night before. But he didn't, and Sam chided himself for the thought. Dean wasn't mad at him, for one, and he cared about Sam's comfort. More importantly, he knew the reverse was true.

Most of the time, anyway.

Sam sighed, leaning his head on the window and letting it slide enough to push his hair back and rest his bare skin against the cool glass. The drugs were out of his system, he could feel it now in the weary clarity of his thoughts, and Dean hadn't pushed any more on him. Sam was glad for that, but he was starting to get why Dean had insisted in the first place, as his arm ached in waves from his fingertips to his elbow. The artificial fatigue had also given way to a bone-weary real one, the effects of hammering through walls and climbing around sewers and racing down hallways starting to settle into his muscles and joints. He was _wrecked_.

Sam pivoted his head on the glass, bringing Dean's expressionless face into view. His brother didn't look much livelier, come to think of it. Sam watched him for a long moment, chewing on his lip, before finally deciding to take the plunge. "Hey, Dean?"

Dean didn't turn, but Sam could feel his attention redirect from the road to the passenger seat. "Yeah."

"You think we could stop someplace and get a room? I, uh, really could use some sleep."

Dean turned to face him, eyes widening incredulously. "You're kidding."

Sam let his mouth pull up the tiniest bit. "I swear, man, I'm beat."

It took a few more moments, but the façade cracked. Then broke apart completely as the snort became a laugh. "Dude, you're such a pansy." But it was said with affection.

Sam gave his brother a sheepish grin, contentment seeping into parched places slowly but deeply.

"You do know I'm totally gonna call you Sleeping Beauty after this. Or Rip Van Winkle."

"You do know I figured out it was Holmes and the sewer system way before you did, even on drugs."

"I didn't say you weren't pulling your weight," Dean said easily. "Man, you just sleep more than a newborn in between doing it."

He almost asked how Dean knew how much a newborn slept but, oh, yeah, right. And they were pulling into a motel, anyway.

The pills that were waiting for him by his bed when he came out of the bathroom this time were plain old white Tylenol. His brother's expression was still amused, though, and even though Sam was glad to see Dean looking happier, it was still annoying. He turned his back to his brother as he swallowed the pills and climbed into bed. "Good-night," he muttered.

"It's, like, three-thirty in the afternoon," Dean pointed out from somewhere behind him.

Sam growled an irate response that would have been thoroughly unfit for Harvelle women's ears.

Dean laughed. "Get your beauty rest, Sammy."

He should have minded but didn't, just rolled over and drifted into peaceful sleep…again.

**The End**


End file.
